Tale for a Sleepless Night
by can-can-can
Summary: Insomnia, cleaning and long lost letters are a lethal combination. WJ. Rated for a few bad words. COMPLETE
1. A Lethal Combination

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em... though I'm in for Nyn's coup.

This is my first venture into 1st person land... I suppose we'll see how it went. Feedback is greatly appreciated.

Enjoy.

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A slight smile of victory broke across my lips as I hefted myself up from my stomach and to my feet.

"Jordan: 1, Dust Bunnies: 0," I muttered to myself as I walked from the couch back to the vacuum. I placed the telescopic hose back in its home before shutting it off.

The loft fell into a hushed near-silence, save the low hum of the television on in the background. I couldn't make out the exact words of the voices, but knew without a doubt that they were selling some sort of new invention that "you won't believe you were ever able to live without."

I had taken to leaving the TV on many nights ago- and had learned to tune it out shortly afterwards. It's only purpose now was to provide some sort of company to ease the loneliness of the long night hours.

My insomnia settled in soon after I went on the run, and it had served me well for those three months; providing me with more hours in the day to track down leads, do research online, or drive to yet another non-descript, back-roads location.

But I had been home for over two months now and still couldn't shake the insomnia's hold on my nights.

In my first few nights back I had lay in bed, eyes closed, waiting for the Sandman to pay me a much needed visit. However, visions of Pollack, Judge Gordon, and the pending trial kept him at bay hour after endless hour, until I began to eagerly await the morning sun's rays filtering through my window and inching their way across my bedroom floor.

I had never been one to lay in wait for anything, so after a few frustrating nights I finally wrote off the whole sleeping bit and used the late night hours to do something I rarely got the time to do: clean.

I remember Nigel once saying something about his insomnia and the History Channel being a "lethal combination." Only now did I fully understand.

Insomnia may be a frustrating condition, but my apartment had never looked better.

In the last several weeks I had cleaned my fridge, my oven, raided my closets and sorted out boxes of clothes to give to Good Will, wiped down walls, scrubbed floors, dusted every nook and cranny… and I was rapidly running out of tasks to do.

I surveyed the now gleaming loft for anything I had yet to see, my eyes passing through my kitchen, past my big red door and finally falling on my desk. Eureka!

The top of the desk had already been tackled in one of my previous night's rampages, but no doubt the drawers of the desk could stand to be sorted through.

"Ah ha! One clean desk, coming up."

I grabbed a waste-basket, sank down in a chair and opened the long top drawer. Receipts went in the trash, newspaper clippings were filed away into a folder that held many more of their kind – small mementos, proof if you will, that my long hours at the morgue were worth all the effort.

Then my hand fell upon a sheath of white paper folded neatly into thirds that I had completely forgotten had found its way into the paper graveyard of my desk.

I recognized it immediately, with its Boston PD letterhead and scrawling signature at the bottom. It was the character reference Woody had written on my behalf when I had planned on fostering Kayla, the one he insisted I take even after it was clear there was no longer any real need for it.

He had stood not too far from here months ago, quietly telling me, "You should read it anyway," and had waited while I read the two short paragraphs at the top of the page.

_To: Department of Child and Family Services_

_I am writing this character reference for Jordan Cavanaugh who is looking to become a foster mother for one Kayla Dawson._

_I have known Jordan going on five years and over that time have come to know her quite well. She is a tireless crusader for all that is right and good in this world. She is dedicated and hardworking in her professional life, but when it comes to those she cares about she is truly devoted. For her family and friends Jordan will move heaven and earth._

_It is both an honor and a privilege that I call Jordan a friend – or more correctly – as close to family as I have any longer._

That was as far as I'd read that night. I recalled smiling despite my mood. "Thanks. I needed that," I told him and then I invited him to dinner.

I remember him saying he had plans, but could cancel. No, no, I'd insisted, I kissed him on the cheek and sent him on his merry way… to Lu.

Only I hadn't had that last piece of information at the time.

I winced at the memory of walking in on the pair in Woody's new office. I told him it was fine, that _I_ was fine. And I was… to an extent.

It just seems like whenever I stand a chance of getting someone to share my life with that fate somehow rips that chance right out of my grip. And frankly, I'm getting sick of playing fate's nasty game of keep-away.

There was a time when I had deep down believed that Woody and I would get a happy ending – that somehow the stars would align and everything would become easier, that we would both finally be in the right place at the right time.

But that time seemed ages away now. There was too much water under the proverbial bridge. I'd been home for months now, and while Woody was instrumental in proving my innocence, we'd shared little more than a friendly hug and a "Good to have you back" exchange since my return.

No, I was too old for fairy tales. Now, instead, it seemed that Woody and I were destined to become one of those star-crossed couples, sharing only a few fleeting moments of happiness, hints of what might have been. Our souls would have to wait for another time and place to find that happy ending.

I sighed a forlorn sound of missed chances and what-might-have-beens. My eyes moved down the page to the following paragraphs that I had never gotten to that night, the ones I had still yet to read. I had simply assumed they were filled with small references to how Woody and I had come to know each other, to my relationship with my morgue family. But when I began to read the actual words that Woody had composed I discovered I couldn't have been more wrong.


	2. Role Play

**A/N: Thanks to those who have reviewed. Reviews make my day. :)**

**And I'd like to appologize in advance for the length of this chapter (or lack thereof). It's short- but that just seemed to be how this one had to be done.**

**More to come soon. **

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_Jordan may not have any prior experience in raising children or understand the whole demands of motherhood, but I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that she would be an exceptional mother to any child lucky enough to come into her life._

_Jordan has an amazing capacity to love, one that I'm sure she doesn't even realize. In fact, I don't think I've ever come across a person who is capable of more compassion, loyalty, forgiveness, and despite what she may believe, love, than this wonderful woman. _

_I think I may be especially qualified to write this reference as there have been many times I've imagined Jordan playing the role of Mother. And I've never come up with any scenario where she has been anything but gentle, patient, funny, authoritative when need be, and above all adoring to her child._

_More over, I truly believe this is the mother Jordan could be, not just in my mind's eye, but in reality as well._

_Sincerely,_

_Detective Woody Hoyt _

I felt the sting of tears forming in my eyes and my finger gently traced the peaks and hollows of Woody's signature. I had never doubted Woody's affection towards me – save those months after the Riggs' shooting when he had been so filled with rage. His sweet, tender touches that lone night in the Lucy Carver Inn proved to be a physical manifestation of feelings we both always knew were there.

We had been best friends and as close as family for years now, and the sexual chemistry between us was enough to melt a hot water bottle. But now seeing Woody's words put down on paper-

"_There have been many times I've pictured Jordan playing the role of mother…" _

What reason would he have for saying that? Except…

My eyes grew wide with sudden realization. I stole a look at the clock sitting atop my desk. 4:33 AM it read.

Damn. Early.

I needed answers and I needed them now. Somehow I knew if I waited I'd lose my present courage.

"To hell with it," I muttered, brushing away a tear as it found its way to my cheek. I rose, crossed the room to my cell and hit the speed dial.

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A/N: The idea for this chapter and the whole story came from an online conversation I had with another CJ fan. We both found it sweet that Woody was the only one who didn't question Jordan's ability to be a mother, the only one who whole-heartedly believed she could do it. Why would Woody and no one else have believed in her so much? we asked. The answer was simple... he'd already pictured her playing that role.


	3. Wake Up Call

**A/N: I'd like to appologize with how long it has taken me to get this chapter posted. I've been dealing with a lot in real life the past few months... going out of town to visit sick family, business trips, a stalker... all sorts of fun. But here is the next imstallment.**

**And, as always, feedback is greatly appreciated. **

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One ring, two rings, then three and four. Finally I heard the line connect on the other side.

"S'is Hoyt," his sleep-laced voice mumbled.

"Why would you picture me as a mother?" I demanded as I began pacing across my newly polished wood floor

"Jordan?" he questioned sleepily, and I could picture him rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his mind still trying to wrap itself around my question. I heard the squeak of his bed as he sat up. "What time is it?"

"4:30. Now, dammit, answer the question!"

"Jeez Jordan! You call me at four-fucking-thirty in the morning demanding answers to questions I'm not even sure why you're asking!" His tone now had a dangerous edge to it and I realized I'd be better off to try the honey tactic rather than the vinegar.

"I'm sorry Woody," I said repentantly, "I'm a bit irritable… I haven't been sleeping well lately."

Boy, was that ever the understatement.

He sighed. "Calling me hours before sunrise- I'd never have guessed," his voice lost its edge and was now laced with concern. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I'll be fine," I reassured him. "I just need some time to adjust. Get over this whole ordeal"

"It's been two months already," he said softly.

"Look who's counting," I joked.

"Seriously, Jordan."

"I know…" I paused and fiddled with the fringe of a throw pillow I'd picked up, "it was just… hard… still is, you know? But I'll get through it. I always do." I knew my voice didn't echo the confidence of my words.

"I hope so Jo," he murmured.

I closed my eyes at the sound of my nickname escaping his lips. God, how I'd missed that while I was gone.

A silence fell over the line. I sank back onto my couch, clutching the pillow close to my chest as if it could somehow infuse me with some sort of comfort.

"What were you asking me?" Woody finally asked.

Somewhere between the demanding questions I'd asked and now I had lost my courage. "Oh… it was, um… nothing." I got out half-heartedly.

"Jordan," Woody said sternly, "It was not 'nothing.' You wouldn't call before dawn for nothing. Tell me now." I suddenly realized why Woodrow Hoyt made such a great interrogator; the man could get something out of anyone.

"I was, just cleaning…"

"At four in the morning?" he interrupted.

"Like I said, I haven't been sleeping much. Anyway, I came across this letter – the character reference you wrote for me when I was trying to foster Kayla."

"Oh, that?" Woody now took his turn being the evasive one.

"Yeah, and I'd never read past the first two paragraphs before… until tonight."

"Jeez Jordan, you may want to get in the habit of reading things that people give to you."

"I'll have to try that," I deadpanned. "So anyway… You wrote something about you having pictured me as a mother. Why Woody? Why would you do that?"

I heard him exhale a deep breathe and I knew him well enough to know he was kneading his eyebrows with his thumb and forefinger. "Come on Jordan," he said hesitantly, "I've seen you put together bigger puzzlers than this one."

"Yes, but why read the book when you've got the Cliff Notes right in front of you?"

"Nice. It's a wonder you made it through medical school with that life theory."

"You know what I mean Woody," I said quietly. "Why should I go searching for answers that may or may not be true when I could just go directly to the source and find a definite answer?"

I heard him sigh again. "I really think you already know the answer to your question, Jo," he told me softly.

"I need to hear it from you," I whispered.

Seconds passed and I could hear him breathing lightly, I figured he was struggling with finding the words to explain. I laid my head back against the cushions and closed my eyes, waiting for him to answer.


	4. Pots and Kettles

**A/N: Yet again, let me appologize for the delay in getting this chapter out. I have no excuse other than I'm busy with life and I couldn't get the chapter to work with me in coming out. **

**And as always, I own nothing...**

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After a long pause I finally heard Woody sigh again on the other end of the line. My eyes remained closed as my head rested on the pillows and I pictured him sitting on his bed with his phone held to his ear.

"I think my feelings about you have pretty clear over the years, Jo," he started softly.

"I'd have to argue with that, Woods," I whispered to myself, so faintly I could hardly hear myself and was sure he hadn't heard me.

My eyes jolted open when I heard him say, "Point taken," by way of an answer. "Let me try that again. For _the most part_," he emphasized, "I think my feelings for you have been pretty damn obvious. Wouldn't you agree?"

I couldn't stop myself from rolling my eyes as I sat up straight on the couch yet again. "Yes, Woody, I know that you've found me attractive and..." I paused, searching for the right word, and failing miserably I settled with, "... interesting."

"Dammit Jordan," he blurted, "you know it goes a hell of a lot further than that!"

I ducked my head in shame, hiding my eyes, as though he could see me from the miles across town that separated us.

"You know I cared about you," he continued, "that I wanted..." he stopped short and I heard him blow out a breath of frustration, "...something," he finished, sounding almost defeated. Several beats went by before he began again. "But every time I thought I was- that we were- getting somewhere, you'd freak out and go all distant... push me away."

None of this came as a shock to me, of course. I know my habit for running when things got serious better than anyone else does. And while I _did _feel bad for subjecting Woody to my troublesome relationship issues, I couldn't let him place the blame entirely on me.

I snorted, "Way to call the Pot 'black' there, Kettle."

"Jordan," Woody practically growled.

"What?!" I raged. "I am _not_ going to take the fall for every problem in our... our..." I stammered trying to find a word that defined us, and ultimately gave up. "I seem to recall something about 'Get the hell out' when I had just told you..." I fumbled again. "And then there was the time you didn't want to be my 'Rebound Guy'! I don't know Woods, looks like you've taken a few lessons on pushing people who care about you away too!" My face was flushed now and I could feel the blood pulsing through my veins.

It was a mistake. I should never have called.

I tried to slow my breathing and calm myself down. "Woody. You know, I'm really sick of running around in circles with this. We could analyze you and I and our 'issues' until Nigel loses his accent and it wouldn't do any good." My gaze fell down to my lap and I shook my head sadly. "I didn't call to argue with you. I'm sorry I woke you," I said softly. "I'll let you get back to sleep."

As I moved the phone from my ear I head Woody call out, "Jordan! No, wait!"

I put the phone back to my ear. "What Woody?" I asked tiredly.

"You gonna give up that easy?" he asked. I couldn't tell from his voice if he was teasing me or trying to piss me off... but I have no doubt he knew those words would again light the fire of fight in me.

"Give up?" I demanded incredulously. "What the hell are you talking about, Woody?"

"Well, you know," now I could hear the smile playing on his face, "I thought you called to ask me a question. Something about a letter?" he teased.

My head fell back against the couch cushions again. I was tired. Sure, I hadn't slept in days, but it wasn't that. I was just tired of us being us. "It really doesn't matter anymore, Woody. Just forget I ever asked."

"No, I won't," he said calmly. "And if you'd just for once shut your mouth long enough for me to finish a sentence, let alone a whole thought, then maybe you'd get your answer. Deal?"

Aw, hell, what did I have to lose?

"Yeah, sure. Deal,"

"Now, as I was saying before..." he started again. "I think you've known how I've felt about you. And I can't say I know for sure, but I'd imagine that people who care about someone else," he chose his words carefully, "the way I did about you for years, that, well..." he paused, "that after a while they start picturing what it would be like to be with that person. To kiss her any time he wanted. To go dancing with her, make her dinner, and then be able to wrap his arms around her as they both drifted off to sleep. To wake up next to her every morning and be amazed that she was still there."

That last sentence tore at my heart, because I knew it was directly pointed at me, that no matter what could, even hypothetically, happen between us, Woody would always have a fear that I would do what I do best: run. I wanted to say something, but I had promised to keep my mouth closed for the time being. Besides, deep down it really _did_ still matter to me why he wrote what he did, and I needed to hear it from him.

"And they just keep coming" he pushed on, amazing me how easily the words fell from his lips now, "Like maybe ones of taking her home to Wisconsin to show her where you fell out of the tree and broke your arm. Or renting a big old Cadillac just so this time you could make-out like a couple of teenagers in the back seat."

A lop-sided grin curled my lips. "And after all of those visions have played out in your head, come the ones where you can see her standing next to you looking positively stunning in a long gown, holding her hand in yours, pledging that she will never run again."

By now I could feel the heat of tears fill my eyes. "And then finally," he said, his voice still strong and steady, as if daring me to doubt his words, "finally you see a little girl with brown pig-tails bouncing as she runs up and wraps her arms around your legs when you get home. And she looks up at you with her mom's whiskey-colored eyes and your heart melts when she says, 'Daddy, I missed you.'"

I tried to hide the sniffle as I wiped at the wetness on my cheeks. I don't know how successful I was.

"I guess, Jordan," he mused, "that the reason why I'd pictured you as a mother would be the same as it would for many people when they are in love with someone. I guess I just had this fairy tale picture of you and me, someday finally getting our acts together and, well... living life happily-ever-after with 2.5 kids, a dog and a mortgage."

"Who exactly are these people with .5 of a kid?"

Woody pounced. "Ah ha! I knew you couldn't keep quiet!"

I smiled. Busted. "Sorry," I apologized. "You were saying?"

"It's okay, Jordan, I was pretty much finished. And now you have your answer." He grew quiet for a few seconds. "So if you'd like to just forget this whole conversation ever happened and go back to your cleaning spree, then I'm willing to play along."

"No," I said. "I don't want to forget it happened." I curled my legs up toward my chest and wrapped my free arm around them. No way did I want to forget those words... not that I could forget them, even if I wanted to. "Why didn't you ever tell me any of this before Woody?"

"You mean other than wanting to avoid the Jordan-shaped hole in the nearest exit?" he laughed, a beautiful sound falling on my ears. That was something I'd missed lately as well.

"Touché." I replied simply, smiling again.

A silence again came over the line, but this time a comfortable one. I could almost feel him sitting next to me, and I wished he was there to rest my head upon his shoulder.

"Hey," he said softly, "look out the window."

I turned my head and glanced out the tall windows of my apartment. The sky was beginning to change from the blackness of night to the darkened emerald color of the early pre-dawn hour.

"The sun will be coming up soon," he stated the obvious. "You have to go in to work today?" he asked.

"No, I'm off for the whole weekend."

"Me too." Another beat passed. "Put on your running shoes and meet me at the docks in 20 minutes?" he asked.

The smile on my face now broke out into a full-fledged grin. "Tell you what... You promise to make a batch of your world-famous blueberry waffles when we're done and you've got yourself a deal, Farm Boy."

I swear I could hear the twinkle of his blue eyes, "As you wish, Jordan."

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**A/N: I PROMISE that the next (and final) chapter will be out soon, as I have only about two paragraphs left in it to write... and you know reviews help the writing happen. :)**


	5. Runnin' Down A Dream

**A/N: This chapter bounces around a couple of times, so I hope that it comes off making sense.**

**And let me apologize that somehow a section of this chapter ended up being a love letter of sorts from me to running. You'll see what I mean. ;) And I will answer a question I know will come up. Yes, it IS possible to talk while running. In fact, once you've gotten the hang of it, it's how you know you're going at the right pace- if you can carry on a conversation. And if you haven't tried running I highly suggest you give it a try. Every word of what I said below is the truth, and there is nothing as simplistic and challenging at the same time as running.**

**Okay, enough of my sales pitch for running... Oh, and the title for this chapter comes from the Tom Petty song of the same name. ;)**

**And as always, I own nothing...**

**Enjoy!  
**

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"You're kidding me!" I said incredulously, glancing up at him as I unlocked my red door and opened it.

"No," he promised, holding his right hand up as if to pledge his honesty. "I'm serious. You have to _qualify_ for the Boston Marathon. Some people spend years trying to get good enough so they can run it," he told me as we walked into the kitchen area and put down the grocery bags we were carrying.

I had stopped at the market on the way home to buy the magic-waffle ingredients Woody would need while he popped home for a quick shower. He met me just as I had got to my building, grabbing a few of the bags from my hands.

"How have I lived here almost my entire life and not known that?" I asked in awe as I started unloading the groceries.

"I don't know, Jo. But it's true. So if you're serious about the marathon thing, then we'll have to find another to shoot for." he told me with a wink of his eye.

"All right. How about we break out good-old-Google in a while. I'm sure we can find one."

"Sounds good. So," Woody asked as he started pulling out the necessary kitchen supplies he'd need, which made me smile because he was so at home here that he never had to ask where anything was, "do you want to shower while I get these going?"

"Yeah. You've de-stunk yourself, so I should probably do the same."

"De-stunk?" he raised an eyebrow at me in that sexy way he has.

"Shut up," I joked as I turned and headed toward the bathroom.

0-0-0-0

As the water poured down over my body I smiled to myself over how far Woody and I had gone that morning, not just in miles of pavement, but in regards to _us_ as well. True, we had probably covered a good twelve miles that morning, but more important than that was what those miles had allowed us to talk about.

There is something extremely therapeutic about running. People often talk of a "runner's high" but it's not so much of a high, as it is a clarity. When I run by myself it is those times when my mind finally lets go of all of its constraints and I'm free... free to think and feel on a level I just can't- or for some reason won't- handle during normal day-to-day life.

And when Woody and I run together something entirely different and astounding happens. Running with someone is like taking a truth serum. As the miles pass by, the more you become willing to share- and you share things that you would _never_ be able to talk about if you were sitting around with a beer or a cup of coffee. I don't know if it has to do with your bodies moving in sync with one another; your hearts beating in time; or the rhythmic pattern or your breathing, inhaling and exhaling a little bit of each other's souls. Or maybe it's just that you are looking ahead, not at each other, and whatever words pass through your lips are left behind on the pavement as you move forward. But whatever the reason, it allows you to talk freely, in almost a confessional-type of way. In fact, I thought, all therapy sessions should be done on a running path... it would make it all so much easier.

I made a mental note to mention that to Dr. Stiles.

It's no wonder that some of my favorite moments with Woody in the past were of our morning runs together. It was more than just seeing him first thing that made my day start off just that much better. On those runs we opened up... shared things we didn't really like to talk about.

The first mile or two were filled with talk about the weather and what we had for dinner the night before. Then we'd move on to our tough cases, and help each other in finding something we'd missed before. Then around mile four came the deeper stuff. The majority of what I knew about his mother and father came from those runs, and I shared with him my favorite and not-so-favorite memories of my mother.

But we never did get around to talking about the most important thing: us. That is, until today.

This morning we started off just like always, talking about the generic things of every day life. By mile four we watched the sun rise as I was telling him about my time in Washington and my current sleeping, or rather non-sleeping, issues. The minutes and miles ticked by and as we ran along the harbor we began to share more. By mile seven he was telling me about why it was that he ran to Lu. At mile eight I told him about J.D.'s malaria comment. Somewhere around mile nine I confessed that I been planning on asking for the ring back before he was shot. He chuckled and told me it was still sitting in his dresser at home. And not long before we made it back to our cars at the docks I told him I'd had visions of a little blue-eyed baby boy...

As we sat on the hood of my El Camino, covered in sweat and gulping down our bottles of water, I glanced over at him. He looked happy. I smiled.

"You look happy," he commented as he nudged me with his shoulder.

I laughed, "You read my mind. I was just thinking the same thing about you."

His blue eyes, that mirrored the color of the cloudless morning sky, focused on mine. "I am happy," he said simply. "Why can't we always be like this Jo?"

I shrugged. "Maybe we think we have too much to hide. Too much baggage. Maybe we think if we are honest about our feelings we will scare the other one away."

He looked away and nodded. "Yeah." He continued looking off in the distance for a moment before he cocked his head to the side and looked at me. "But I like us like this."

"You and me both, Farm Boy." We sat in silence for a moment.

"How about we do this all the time then?" he asked as he stood up.

"What? Run?" I asked, hopping off the hood.

"No... Well, yeah, that too..." he opened his car door and tossed in his water bottle. "But I meant the honesty thing."

I brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen from my ponytail. "Honesty, huh? Hmmm... novel concept," I said with a smirk.

Woody rolled his eyes. "Yes, Jordan, honesty." He leaned back against the door frame of his car and rested his arm on the open door. "We spend every day of our lives working to find the truth, and yet with each other it seems too much to ask. I think the people we care about deserve the truth just as much as the victims who cross our paths."

"Smart _and_ sexy," I teased as I flashed him a smile. "How have you not been snatched up yet?"

Woody groaned. "Seriously, Jordan."

"Sorry. Old habits die hard I guess." I leaned against my own car facing him. "Honesty?"

"Yeah, honesty." The bright morning sun lit his face with hope. "You told me not too long ago that you'd grown up. Well, so have I, Jo. And maybe it's about time we both started acting like it with each other. What do you say?"

"Honestly," I pursed my lips in thought, "I think it's worth a try."

"Wanna test it out?" he asked with a smile.

"Sure," I laughed.

"You look sexy in your running clothes," he grinned at me wickedly.

I looked down at myself and then up at him and raised an eyebrow. He simply nodded with the smile still plastered on his face.

I laughed again. "Well, not as sexy as you do when you're wearing your holster."

Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow. "Reeeeaaallly?" he asked mischievously. "I'll have to remember that."

"You do that." I pushed myself off of the car. "I'll go get the things for the waffles," I told him as I walked around to the driver's side, "You go shower and I'll meet you at my place in a half an hour?"

"Sounds good," he said as I opened my door.

He moved to sit down in his car as I called out, "Hey Woody!" He paused and looked up. "What do you say we run the Boston Marathon together?"

He laughed out loud at that.

"What?!" I asked, slightly confused by his obvious amusement.

"I'll tell you later!" he called as he shut his car door, still chuckling to himself.

0-0-0-0-0

I climbed out of the shower and toweled off my hair. I threw on a pair of comfortable jeans and a t-shirt and started brushing through my hair as I came out to the kitchen.

Woody looked up from the bowl of batter he was mixing and smiled at me. "I'm just finishing off the batter. I still need to cook them."

I put the hairbrush down and walked to the counter. "Want any help?" I asked, leaning over so my arms rested on the counter top.

He glanced at me sideways. "No. You go rest for a few minutes. No offense, but you look exhausted." He smiled knowingly, "I guess that's what not sleeping will do to a person."

I grimaced. "That or the running for two hours straight." I walked over to the couch and plopped myself down on it. A wave of fatigue washed over me.

I laid down against a pillow and watched Woody as he began pouring the batter into the waffle iron. It had been over five years since he came into my life. He had definitely changed over the years, but so had I, I suppose. Little was left of the mid-western Farm Boy who was so unfamiliar with big city life. But every now and then when he'd get excited about something I could see a spark of it, and it never failed to make me smile.

My eyes became heavy and I began to blink slowly. I continued to watch him as he softly sang a song I couldn't make out. The years have been kind to him, I thought; in fact, in many ways he looks better today than he did in years past. He glanced up at me and flashed me a smile. Gorgeous, I thought, as I smiled back and closed my eyes.

0-0-0-0-0

"Jordan," I felt the tickle of a whisper against my ear, but I couldn't bring myself to open my eyes. "Jordan," again I heard him whisper, "breakfast is ready."

"Mmmhmm..." I think I mumbled back. I felt his arms sneak underneath my form on the couch and then the loss of the softness of the cushions as he lifted me into his arms. "Where're we going?" I asked sleepily, my eyes still glued shut.

"To bed," he answered simply as he carried me to my bedroom.

"But breakfast?" I mumbled.

"Can be re-heated. I think you need sleep more than food." He placed me gently in my bed and pulled the covers up over my body. I felt him brush a strand of hair off my face. I opened my eyes and was met with a vision of his blue eyes gazing back at me from above. "I'll be back later," he said softly.

"No..." I said as I reached for his hand. "Stay?" I asked.

He looked at me questioningly, "You sure, Jo?"

"Honestly?" I smiled. "I've never been more sure of anything." I pulled him down towards me.

He laid down alongside me and snaked his arm around my waist, "Honestly," he whispered, "neither have I."

Content, I closed my eyes again and felt him kiss me softly on the forehead as I drifted off to sleep, somehow knowing that my nights of insomnia were no more.

-End


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